


How Festive

by PBnJ



Category: Venom (Movie 2018)
Genre: A Little Bit Of Shipping, Bonus New Year's chapter, Champagne, Christmas, Christmas Cookies, Christmas Tree, Fluff, Gratuitous Usage Of The Word Pudding, Light-Hearted, Office Party, Other, Some hurt/comfort, The Hand That Feeds AU, Vomit Mention, fudge - Freeform, seasonal depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-09-28 00:25:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17172353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PBnJ/pseuds/PBnJ
Summary: The adventures of Eddie Brock and smol Venom at Christmastime.





	1. Cookie Glutton

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Schadenfiend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schadenfiend/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Hand that Feeds](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16399862) by [Schadenfiend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schadenfiend/pseuds/Schadenfiend). 



> Surprise! I wrote another thing for this AU because I cannot be stopped! It's a little late for Christmas, but I was feeling inspired and came up with a few cute and (mostly) fluffy holiday-related thoughts about Eddie and smol Venom. So far I have three shortish chapters, but I'm almost certainly going to write more. 
> 
> A belated merry Christmas and happy holidays to you, dear reader. 
> 
> Diane, Mr. Meatloaf, the pet names, and smol Venom belong to Schadenfiend.
> 
> Btw, the tense changes from chapter to chapter. Not quite sure why. I just went with what felt right.

“Oh.” 

Murder Puds cracks their eyes open with effort.

“My.”

They roll their eyes to look up at him and blep in greeting. 

“FUCK.” 

Eddie Brock stares down at the pudding. They’re parked in the middle of an empty plate that had been piled with cookies not even five minutes ago. Their little body is so distended that it’s almost perfectly round.

“Are you KIDDING me?!” Eddie exclaims. “I made four dozen of those!”

The pudding makes a flapping noise that sounds a lot like a burp.

“Those were for the office Christmas party, you gooey little menace! I spent half the day making these!”

They don’t have the decency to look the least bit sorry.

Eddie pokes their very full belly like they’re a goth Pillsbury Dough Boy. “Now I have nothing to take tonight! My boss is certifiably insane, as you well know, and she will NOT like it if I show up empty-handed.”

He’d signed up to bring cookies months ago. He’s supposed to leave in ten minutes, and now he has nothing to take to his new coworkers.

Eddie’s outraged enough to take a picture of Murder Puds and send it to Anne.

[Me: Look at this little asshole!] He angry-types, low-key smashing each letter. [They ate FORTY-EIGHT cookies!!!!!!!!]

A typo-filled response comes shortly.

[Annie: Tghey loook like a; bowlingg ball]

Eddie can easily imagine her cry-laughing like she used to when she unwound from the stress of her day with vine compilations that he didn’t understand. Eddie never thought that he’d miss being shown weird vines. He wonders if she shows vines to Dan now. Most likely.

With effort, Eddie pulls himself out of that thought spiral. He grabs his scarf, boots, and thickest winter coat. The pudding starts to bubble and fret.

“Relax, I’m not leaving you.” Eddie grunts. “Even if you deserve it. Dick.” 

He slips the bloated blob under his coat and tucks them close to his heart. Murder Puds likes listening to his heartbeat; it mellows them out.

“Let’s go. We don’t have much time.”

* * * * *

When Eddie arrives, he’s assaulted by the volume of the music. ‘Jingle Bell Rock’ was not meant to be blasted from multiple speakers.

“YOU’RE LATE!” Diane bellows. She doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by having to scream over the music.

“I GOT INTO TRAFFIC.” Eddie shouts back.

Diane scowls at the container in his hands. “THOSE,” she very loudly accuses, “CAME FROM WAL-MART.”

Eddie holds up a large bottle of wine. “I ALSO BROUGHT BOOZE.”

Diane slaps him on the back. “WELCOME TO THE PARTY, SON!”

“THANKS. WOULD IT BE POSSIBLE TO MAYBE TURN THE MUSIC DOWN SEVERAL NOTCHES?” Murder Pudding is bubbling with agitation against him. 

Diane rolls her eyes, but, to Eddie’s surprise, she walks over to the sound system without giving him a hard time about it. Several people shoot him grateful looks as the music’s turned down to a much less horrible volume. The pudding settles down.

“Don’t you want to take off your coat, son?”

“Not even a little, Ma. Show me to the food.”

Eddie’s not great with parties, and he doesn’t know his new coworkers all that well. He’s been nervous all day about coming here tonight. He ends up having a pretty nice time. 

Most of the food is holy shit delicious; the horoscopes writer brought the best cinnamon rolls that he’s ever eaten in his life, and Eddie gets full off of no less than four different types of casseroles and half a dozen different kinds of cookies. The spiked eggnog is also excellent. The wine he brought isn’t half bad. Eddie picked a random wine that wasn’t too expensive, but a few people compliment him on it. 

He pets Mr. Meatloaf, who purrs a rattling, rusty purr and gets fur all over Eddie’s pants. 

Eddie even gets invited to dance. He’s floored when a cute brunette comes up to him as ‘I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas’ starts playing, and asks if he’d like to dance with her. Through his shock, Eddie manages to say yes. It’s been a while since he’s danced and he’s not quite sure where to put his increasingly sweaty hands, but the brunette leads and seems to enjoy herself. 

After they’ve danced for a few songs, she’s ready to dance by herself, but not before giving him a parting kiss on the cheek. Eddie feels better about life than he has in months.

Later in the evening, Diane announces the winners of the annual holiday raffle. Eddie does not win the grand prize. Nor does he win the second, third, or fourth place one. He does score a consolation prize, a handsome toothbrush. Diane laughs, but Eddie’s actually happy; he needed a new toothbrush. He grins when he and the other winners get their picture taken. 

Eddie ends the evening by dancing with Murder Puds. To everyone else, it looks like he’s slow-dancing by himself. But Eddie knows his dance partner is there. They snuggle up against him as he rubs their back through the coat and hums along to ‘Silver Bells.’ 

He still hasn’t forgiven them for eating all his cookies, but he’s glad they’re sharing this evening with him. There’s no one in the world that he’d rather be sharing it with right now, Eddie realizes.

He carefully sidesteps the very drunk pet psychic columnist, who’s dancing with Mr. Meatloaf. Eddie holds the pudding even closer. His belly is full, people are actually enjoying his company, and his gooey best friend is curled up against him like a sleepy puppy. Tonight, Eddie feels like this might really be the most wonderful time of the year.


	2. Ballin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A special someone has a gift for Murder Pudding.

The box arrived a week before Christmas.

Eddie was surprised when he answered his door and found a UPS guy standing on his dirty welcome mat. 

“Edward Brock?”

“Um… yes?” 

“I have a package for you. If you’ll just sign here…”

Eddie signed the little electronic pad. His signature came out looking like Mandarin Chinese.

“Thank you. Happy holidays.”

“Hey, same to you. Thanks.”

Eddie shut and locked his door (he and Murder Puds don’t live in the nicest neighborhood), then carried the box to the coffee table. The pudding oozed out of his hoodie’s front pocket, their eyes squinted in a curious frown.

“What do you think we’ve got here, li’l blob? Huh?”

Eddie’s heart both sank and fluttered when he saw the sender’s address. He opened up the package and found a large plastic bubble and a smaller box that was tied up with string. There was a card on top of the smaller box. Eddie got it out of its envelope. There was a reindeer with golden antlers on a white background on the front of the card. The inside had been blank, but it was now covered in Anne’s flawless cursive. 

Eddie read out loud for the pudding’s benefit. “Hi, Eddie. I hope this finds you well. Enclosed, you will find a batch of Dan’s famous peanut butter walnut fudge and a gift for your little friend (Although I’m predicting it will turn out to be a gift for you, too). It’s a hamster ball. We picked out the biggest size our local pet store had. Hopefully, it will allow Pudding to safely go on adventures while you get some work done. Merry Christmas and happy holidays from Anne and Dan.” 

Eddie shook his head. “Their names rhyme. Wow, I low-key hate this guy and I haven’t even met him yet.” He set the card down with disgust. “I sure don’t want his charity fudge.” 

The pudding poked the smaller box enthusiastically. 

“I don’t see why you can’t have it, though.”

Eddie untied the string and opened up the little box, which was stuffed full of thick chunks of nutty fudge. It did smell kind of incredible. He decided to scrape off one tiny flake for a taste. The instant the flavor hit his tongue, Eddie moaned. Murder Puds looked a little concerned. 

“That,” said Eddie, “Is way more delicious than it has any right to be.” 

He popped two chunks in his mouth as the pudding absorbed a heaping handful. 

“Hey, piglet, slow down. That’s for both of us. Well, technically, it’s for me. I’m being nice by sharing it with- Puds! Seriously! Save some for me, you hog!”

Since the murder pudding had come into his life, leftovers had become a thing of the past. Eddie knew he had no hope of saving some of this for later. So he took what he could while he still could. He ate rich, creamy, chewy fudge until he was ready to hibernate- possibly in a diabetic coma. Eddie had minimal regrets.

Rats, he couldn’t conk out for a nap yet, though. He’d been in the middle of working on his final (and first) draft of a column that was due iiiinnn… forty-five minutes now. 

As the pudding inhaled the rest of the fudge, Eddie got the hamster ball out of its packaging. The ball was light purple and it had tiny air holes on the sides. Hopefully the puds couldn’t squeeze out of those. Eddie opened the hatch at the top of the ball and extended his hand to the pudding. They slithered into his hand and stretched out their head to inspect this strange object.

“Let’s get you set up in this so I can finish my column without having to put you in the jar, okay, sweetheart?” They perked up; they recognized the endearment. 

Eddie lowered them into the ball. Approximately half of them wrapped around his wrist; they were not sure about this new container. 

“You’re okay,” Eddie reassured them. “It’s fun. You can get around in it.” 

He coaxed them to let go and then he shut the hatch. Eddie gave the ball a gentle push. The pudding frothed with alarm as they rolled.

Eddie couldn’t help laughing. “Aw, Murder Puds, it’s okay. I’ll be right here, and you can push this thing all over the apartment. Doesn’t that sound great?” 

They cautiously pressed against one portion of the ball. They still frothed when they rolled, but this time they were way less freaked out. 

“That’s it.” Eddie gave the ball a pat.

The pudding carefully pushed against the ball again. With a little wobbling and some hissing, they were able to roll closer to Eddie.

“You’re a genius, little pudding.”

It wasn’t long before they were rolling circles around him.

“Hey, you’ve got it!” 

They gave him a toothy grin that took up almost their whole face.

“My creepy little sweetheart.” Eddie picked up the ball to press a kiss to it, and the tip of Puds’s long tongue flicked out to lick his lips.

When Eddie set the ball down and got up, the pudding looked confused. ‘Wait a minute,’ they seemed to say. ‘I thought we were having a moment here.’ 

“I can’t play any more right now,” Eddie explained. “Give me… thirty-five minutes, holy shit… and then I’ll be all yours.”

They scowled up at him and stuck out their tongue. Eddie stuck out his tongue right back.

“Somebody’s gotta earn that bread, sweetheart.”

As he went over to retrieve his laptop, the pudding attempted to trip him no less than three separate times. Eddie thoroughly cursed them out, safely sat down at his desk, and assumed that that was the end of their snit. 

Five minutes later, he’d written a grand total of seven words, and Murder Pudding was repeatedly ramming the ball into the backs of his ankles.

“Puds, I SWEAR.”

They kept up the barrage. Every time he low-key kicked them away, they’d roll back and resume the assault. 

“Do NOT make me put you in gay baby jail.” 

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

“That’s it!” 

Eddie grabbed the ball under his arm and marched over to the couch. He set the ball down in the bigger of the two boxes. The pudding immediately started hissing and banging against the sides of the box.

“Get wrecked, you little asshole.”

Even though Eddie was pissed at them, he wasn’t cruel. He set the box down in his lap so they’d still be able to stay close to him. Their hissy fit and their thumping against the sides of the box was distracting as all get-out, but nowhere near as distracting as them being a fucking battering ram. Eddie turned his column in with ninety seconds to spare.

The pudding was sulking in one corner of the box when he shut his laptop and peered in at them.

“Has doing hard time made you into a model citizen?”

They scowled up at him.

“You want out?” Eddie pantomimed lifting the ball out. He waited.

“Ssss,” they muttered. 

“Yes? Okay.” Eddie took the ball out of the box and set it down. “Now we can-“ His cell rang. “Shit, I should get that. It might be Diane.” 

The second he took a step, they tried to trip him.

“Son of a BITCH!!!!”

* * * * *

Later that week, Eddie sent a card and a package to Anne and Dan.

The card read, “Hey, Anne and Dan. The fudge was awesome; thanks so much. The pudster loves the ball; jury’s still out on my opinion of it. (Just a little lawyer humor thrown in there for you.) Please enjoy the cookies; they’re Pillsbury’s finest. The catnip mouse is for Mr. Belvedere. Merry Christmas and happy holidays from Eddie and Pudding.”


	3. In Which Venom Is An Actual Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is why Eddie can't have nice things.

“Don’t you dare.”

The blob met his glare, not the least bit intimidated. 

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

They held the eye contact as they pushed the little artificial tree off the dining room table. Ornaments exploded on the floor.

“You asshole!” Eddie exclaimed. “Some of those were my mom’s from when she was a kid! My real mom, not the insane one I work for. Fuck!”

He scrunched his eyes shut and slowly counted to ten. When he opened his eyes, Murder Pudding was stretching out to touch his hand. Eddie could’ve been reading too much into it, but he thought that they looked a little bit sorry. Like maybe they sensed that they’d gone too far. 

Eddie knelt down to inspect the damage. 

The one with his mom’s third grade handprint on it was still on the tree, so it was unhurt. 

The one with the horse-drawn sleigh and the couple all snug in their fur coats only had a chip in it. 

He might be able to save the blue and white one with the sheddy glitter, and the stained glass Mickey with a Santa hat.

The pudding nudged a few shards from one of the ornaments that hadn’t been so fortunate.

Eddie sighed. They’d been a dick to push over the tree after he’d said no, but it wasn’t like they’d had any idea how special some of those ornaments were. They’d been petty, but not deliberately malicious. 

The pudding slid their tiny hand through the gap between his thumb and pointer finger, and Eddie squeezed their miniature fingers. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” 

It wasn’t okay, but he needed them to hear from his tone that he wasn’t still angry with them. 

They curled around his hand as he got up and fetched a broom and dustpan. The pudding watched the process as Eddie cleaned up every broken piece that he could find. They nuzzled his arm as he set up the tree again and hung up the surviving ornaments. 

Eddie kissed the top of their blobby little head. “It’s okay, Puds. Just don’t do that again, all right?”

Their teeny hand squeezed his thumb.

* * * * *

Eddie didn’t see much of Murder Puds for the rest of the day. Which was okay; he glued the salvageable ornaments and got a lot of work done. (He still missed them, though.) 

They were quiet when he kissed their jar goodnight. Eddie fell asleep holding the jar to his chest. 

When morning came, they were in the jar, but the jar’s lid was wonky. They’d been out. What did he have to do to keep them contained, vacuum seal them? The image of an incredibly grouchy shrink-wrapped pudding made Eddie chortle as he got the coffee started.

He plugged in the artificial tree’s lights and then did a double take. Every ornament was back on the tree. 

Even the strawberry-shaped one, which had been completely shattered, was back in one piece. Eddie carefully touched the strawberry. It was covered in cracks but it didn’t yield under his touch. 

He inspected the other ornaments in disbelief. They were all stuck back together. None was missing a single piece. There was a mostly empty glue bottle in the trash. 

Eddie went back to his room and sat down beside the jar. He popped the lid off and nudged the puds. They nudged back sleepily. 

“You did all that out there? How in the hell?”

As they held his finger, mental images flickered through Eddie’s head of the murder pudding searching for the tiniest chips of glass. Of them holding pieces with countless teeny tendrils as they painstakingly stuck everything back together. They’d had only his memories of what the ornaments had looked like before to draw on for their reconstruction efforts. It had taken them all of yesterday and most of the night. They’d finally crawled back into the jar just as the sun was starting to rise. 

Eddie didn’t know what to say. “Holy shit, Puds. Thank you so much. Seriously, that’s amazing.”

He felt the glow of their satisfaction as they sluggishly spilled out of the jar and melted into his hands.

Eddie brought the blob to his face to give them a kiss. “Sweetheart, get some rest. You’ve more than earned it.”

They didn’t argue. Not even a minute later, they were snoozing. They were low-key clinging to his left thumb, so Eddie cradled his left hand to his chest as he fixed breakfast. He fixed it as quietly as possible, and made lots of extra scrambled eggs so Puds could feast later. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about the ornaments. No one had ever done something like that for him before. It moved and scared him. 

Eddie was scared because this little pudding loved him so MUCH. Frankly, he didn’t deserve it, and he didn’t want to let them down. 

He’d really won the lottery when he’d found them by his bike that day. He hoped they were glad that they’d come to live with him, too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was intended to be more light-hearted. Ho ho ho, smol Venom acting like a cat and pushing the tree over. The ornaments added some hurt/comfort to the mix. It all worked out okay for them both, though. 
> 
> I have more ideas, and if my inspiration holds out, I'll post a couple more in the near-ish future. No promises on exactly when, however.


	4. Yule Be Sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smol Venom does not like Yule log videos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a brief mention of seasonal depression, but the chapter doesn't touch on it again.
> 
> This is hurt/comfort territory again, but there's plenty of silly fluff too. 
> 
> Thank you SO much to everyone who commented. It really made me happy.

One day, Eddie woke up in a buoyant mood.

He wasn’t particularly sure why; the weather was terrible, it was dark out, and he’d gotten not quite six hours of sleep last night. Hey, he wasn’t going to look a gift day-without-seasonal-depression in the mouth. 

Eddie took advantage of his extra energy. He did his laundry, took a hot bath, and answered some soul-sucking work-related e-mails. By mid-morning, Eddie was still feeling peppy, so he got out all of the ingredients that he’d need to bake his favorite kind of Christmas cookies. Eddie would be going by a recipe that had been passed down in his family. Said recipe required obscene amounts of butter; hence why the end result was named butter cookies. 

Murder Pudding sat on his shoulder and tucked themselves against his neck as he gathered everything he needed. (Once they shot out a tendril to steady a sack of flour before Eddie could drop it on his toe. He was most grateful.) 

Once Eddie had all his ingredients out, he opened up his laptop and searched for a video that he revisited every December. It was a ten-hour loop of a Yule log. In years past, the gentle crackling and snapping had provided a cozy background ambiance while Eddie wrote Christmas cards, wrapped presents, or baked cookies. An ad for an upcoming thriller film played first. And then that familiar log appeared.

The pudding SHRIEKED.

It was a shrill, thin, piercing sound that just about deafened Eddie in one ear. They shot under his shirt and flattened themselves against him in a sheet. They pressed close and clutched him hard, like they wanted to climb right inside him.

“Hey, hey! Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

The pudding was shaking, and they were frothing with terror. Eddie had zero idea what was distressing them this much. Then it occurred to him: maybe it was the video. 

He paused the video. “Sweetheart, it’s just a picture. It can’t hurt you.” 

Eddie tried lifting his shirt so they could see for themselves that there was no danger. They emitted another terrified shriek. 

Eddie immediately snapped the laptop shut. “Shit, Puds, I’m so sorry. I’m a fucking idiot.” 

He sat down on the kitchen floor and hugged himself tight. The pudding trembled against him, and he slipped a hand under his shirt to rub the frothing black sheet. 

“Shhhhh, it’s okay. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

He tucked his knees up against his chest so that they could feel even more of him. 

“Nothing’s gonna hurt you, Murder Pudding. I’ve got you.”

He talked softly to them until they stopped shaking. At one point, he stopped the rubbing, wondering if it was getting annoying. They started foaming and bubbling like a pot that’s boiling over, and only settled back down to their previous level of frothing after he promptly started rubbing again and it became clear that he wasn’t going to suddenly stop again. 

When the pudding was calmer, they communicated feelings of gratitude and relief to him. He’d made the fire go away. He’d kept them safe. 

“I really didn’t mean to scare you, Puds. I’m so sorry.”

They rippled soothingly against him. 

Eddie gave them another squeeze. “I guess you don’t like fire, huh?” 

There was one of the great understatements of the modern age.

“Well, worry not, because I have an alternative. That’s right.” 

The pudding pulsed suspiciously as Eddie looked up his second-favorite holiday video. It was two and a half hours of string instruments and piano playing classic Christmas carols and other seasonal tunes (such as Sleigh Ride and Carol of the Bells). There was no singing. The video cycled through still images of sweets, wintry scenes, and a variety of toys and other festive gifts. The image changed about every thirty seconds. Eddie turned the volume down nice and low. 

Murder Pudding poked their head out of his shirt like a periscope, and he chuckled. “Come on out. The coast is clear.”

It took them a little bit to decide that it was indeed safe to come out. When they were satisfied that nothing was on fire, the pudding wound around Eddie’s neck like a scarf. 

Eddie kissed their head and pressed his hands to them in a low-key hug. “Whaddya say we do some baking?”

They had no objections, so Eddie got things started.

Since the pudding had taken a while to calm down, the butter that Eddie had taken out of the fridge was nice and soft.

“Hey, great. Mixing this will be a cinch.”

It did, indeed, prove to be a cinch. 

Eddie mixed his ingredients and the pudding supervised. Occasionally they would help him out. They cracked the eggs for him so he didn’t have to get his hands all gross. (Although they ate three eggs, shell and all, before Eddie was able to get across to them that he wanted their assistance and he wasn’t just handing them a delightful snack. They also ate a cup of sugar when he gave it to them to hold so he could level the excess sugar off the top.) 

They were one content little goo, and they were digging the tunes. When they particularly enjoyed a song, they’d ripple in time to the music. Their attention was mostly devoted to what Eddie was doing, but they were also fascinated by the cycling images on the laptop screen. They seemed low-key mesmerized by the bright, colorful pictures. Every so often, they’d peek over Eddie’s shoulder to see if the picture had changed yet. It was the cutest fucking thing.

Every time Eddie mixed in a new ingredient, he gave Puds a little bit of the dough to taste. They received the offering with more enthusiasm each time. Eddie had discovered a life hack for cooking with the pudding: if he gave them dough while he was working, they wouldn’t try as hard to take it right from the bowl while he was actively mixing it, AND they wouldn’t drool quite so much on his shirt. 

When he’d finished making the dough, Eddie put the bowl of dough in the fridge. These cookies were the kind that needed to be cut into shapes, and rolling out that dough could be a sticky, trying nightmare if it didn’t get chilled enough. 

Eddie played A Christmas Story while the two of them waited. When the movie was over, Eddie got out the cookie cutters and the spatula and the rolling pin. He laid parchment paper down on the table and dumped lots of flour on his work surface. He got the bowl out of the fridge and gave the pudding a little ball of dough. It slowed them down just long enough to allow him to start rolling the dough out. 

When they reached for the remaining dough, Eddie firmly told them, “No.”

They scowled, but didn’t move any closer. Eddie reached over and touched his hand to their head. He concentrated on sending them images of cutting out shapes with the cookie cutters. Their pout was quickly replaced with a curious expression. They reached for a reindeer-shaped cookie cutter.

“If you wanna help me,” Eddie told them, “You cannot eat more than half of what you’re working with.” He wanted to keep his standards realistic.

Murder Pudding pressed the reindeer into the dough, and looked to Eddie to see if they’d done it right.

“Hey, way to go!” He praised. “Let’s get that on one of the trays.” 

He reached for the spatula. The pudding popped the reindeer-shaped dough piece into their mouth.

“Never mind.”

Eddie cut out a snowman, several gingerbread men (they were his favorite shape), a star, and a Santa face. Murder Puds cut out four more reindeer and ate three of them. It was a start, Eddie supposed.

The trays began to fill up.

The pudding got more into what they were doing when they realized that they didn’t need to use the cookie cutters to cut out shapes.

“Showoff.” Eddie grunted, as they used their own body to cut out a rather deformed reindeer. 

Their shapes got weirder the longer they worked. None of them looked Christmassy; Pudding’s shapes were all sharp edges and bizarre angles. One of the less bizarre shapes looked like a super ripped bodybuilder. Eddie laughed when he saw it, and they hissed with annoyance.

“Aw, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Your swol guy is fantastic.” 

That seemed to pacify them a little.

* * * * * 

Venom didn’t understand at first what preferred-host was trying to do. When he showed them with his thoughts, they were intrigued. 

At first, they stuck to the shapes that their darling idiot had provided. But before long, they were inspired to create their own cookie shapes. 

Stars from distant galaxies.

Their home planet’s moons during a partial eclipse.

Criss-crossing tree needles and sections of snowflakes that they’d seen on the noisy square. 

Venom was particularly proud of their rendition of what they and their human would look like as one. They made them tall and strong, ready to take down any threat. And the preferred-host laughed. 

That cheesed them off. But he spoke kindly to them and stroked them with his soft clawless fingers, and they couldn’t stay annoyed with him.

Venom pressed themselves into his touch. Maybe one day very soon, they’d come together for real. It was a sweet thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Butter cookies are delicious but also kind of a pain in the butt to make
> 
> I will most likely write a thing about Eddie and smol Venom decorating these cookies. Stay tuned. Again, can't promise a specific date. But more is coming.


	5. Visions of Sugarplums

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie and smol Venom decorate cookies, but not without running into a couple of hurdles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The very beginning of this chapter is a reference to a part in chapter 7 of The Hand That Feeds. Eddie puts some water in smol Venom's jar because he's trying to get them clean, and he gets all tickled thinking that they look like a lava lamp and he gives them a little stirring. 
> 
> This chapter is a continuation of the last one.

Murder Puds is tuckered out after their big scare and all the cookie making, so they curl up on Eddie’s chest for a nap once the cookies are in the oven. 

Eddie rubs their little back as they twitch in their sleep. They’ve formed hand protrusions, which are curled into tiny half-fists. Are they dreaming? Eddie wonders what, if anything, they would dream about.

* * * * * 

Venom holds the jar, which is three-quarters of the way full of water. A tiny version of preferred-host bobs inside. They shake the jar and vigorously swirl the water inside.

“Who’s the lava lamp now, fucker?! Who’s the lava lamp now?! Whatever the hell that is. Not so funny now, is it, meatbag boy?!”

* * * * *

The pudding’s mouth curls up in a grin. Eddie chuckles fondly. Maybe even sassy slime molds have visions of sugarplums this time of year.

* * * * *

Murder Pudding wakes up from their nap once three of the four trays of cookies have been baked. They help themselves to a few cookies and get crumbs all down Eddie’s shirt as they curl cozily around his neck.

“Thank you. I love being your napkin. No, really.”

The pudding bubbles with amusement. Even though they don’t know exactly what he’s saying, they find the exasperation in his voice funny. Eddie needn’t have bitched. As he gets out the stuff he needs for the frosting, Murder Pudding licks every last crumb off him. Their almost disturbingly thorough work tickles a little, and Eddie has to try not to squirm as he lays out his ingredients. 

A clean bowl, milk, confectioner’s sugar, a stick of butter… When Eddie looks for the sprinkles, he discovers that he’s out of green and dangerously low on red. He vaguely remembers thinking last year that he’d get more next year. That’s the sort of stellar problem-solving that’s gotten him where he is now in life.

“Way to plan ahead, me.” Eddie grumbles.

He considers the situation. Technically, he doesn’t NEED sprinkles. These cookies will be more than sweet enough without them. But Eddie wants sprinkles, dammit. The cookies just won’t be as festive sans sprinkles. 

And so he layers up with his warmest winter clothes. Puds ripples with excitement as Eddie straps on the baby carrier. It took him many tries before he figured out how to do the damn straps correctly, but he’s a pro now. 

Eddie bought the baby carrier at a thrift store for five bucks. The pudding doesn’t get pissy about the carrier like they do about their ever-bigger jars. It allows them a greater range of movement, plus they get to be close to Eddie. They usually snuggle right against his chest and remain well-behaved as long as he gives them frequent pats and back rubs. 

Eddie also bought a little blue bunny-eared knit hat at the same thrift store so he can pull it over their head and shield them from curious strangers who like babies. Today, though, in the spirit of the season, he pops a Santa hat on them instead. Murder Pudding cooperatively stretches out to receive the hat.

“There you go, Puds.” 

They slither into the baby carrier and press close to him.

“Let’s do this.”

The weather is still shitty but the wind has died down some and it’s not snowing as hard. Eddie drives very carefully. Happily, he and the blob arrive at the supermarket safely. He even finds a parking spot that’s not half a day’s journey from the store entrance.

Once he’s inside the store, Eddie picks up a little plastic shopping basket. He easily finds the sprinkles and adds a couple bags of chocolate chips to the basket for Puds. 

Just as they’re about to leave the sugar/spices/baking aisle, he hears, “I hope that little one is warm enough!”

Eddie turns to face the speaker, a woman who looks to be in her sixties.

“Oh, he is, for sure.” Eddie reassures her.

“How old is he?” the woman asks.

“Six months.” The answer changes almost every time someone asks.

“Oh, a little-little one! What’s his name?”

Eddie’s eyes flick quickly to the label on the first condiment he sees. “McCormick.”

“How… unique!” The woman comes closer. “Can I see him?”

Eddie puts a protective hand on the carrier. “Oh, normally I’d say yes, but I just got him to sleep. He’s got colic. You know how that is.” He says, conspiratorially. Eddie is lying. He has no idea what colic is like. 

“Oh, yes, I do. I had five children of my own, and now I have thirteen grandchildren.”

“Whoa.” Eddie remembers just in time to use family-friendly language to express his surprise.

“My youngest daughter is going to have her second child in March. So number fourteen is on the way.”

“Hey, congratulations.”

The woman smiles warmly.

Eddie clears his throat. “We should get going. I have to get ready to take him to his mom’s. It’s her turn to have him this weekend.” Eddie has no idea why that just left his mouth. 

The woman’s eyes widen. “Oh, my. Are you divorced?”

“Separated, actually. I kind of hope we can still work things out.”

The woman puts a hand on his shoulder. “Good luck, honey.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“You and little McCormick stay warm now, you hear?”

“Will do.” 

Eddie hides his face in his free hand as the woman turns back to her shopping list. Why does he talk, ever? He gets checked out and gets the heck out of there before he ends up sharing a totally fake tragic backstory with somebody else. 

Eddie tucks the shopping bag under his many layers of coats; he doesn’t trust Murder Pudding to not devour everything before they get home. 

The wind has picked up. Eddie’s glad when they get home and he’s back inside his warm apartment. 

The pudding slithers out of the baby carrier and climbs on Eddie’s head as he peels off all his extra layers.

“Now we’re gonna decorate our cookies, Puds. Fun, right?”

He holds out his hand and they touch their tiny hand to his palm. Eddie sends them mental images of spreading frosting on the cookies with a butter knife and garnishing them with sprinkles. Murder Pudding starts to drool.

“Oh, yeah. It’s gonna be fucking delicious.”

Eddie washes the mixer beaters (a part of him is sorely tempted to just have the pudding lick them clean, but visions of contracting some horrible slime-powered strain of salmonella keep him from actually trying that) and gets to mixing. 

He blends together a stick of butter, a little bit of milk, and a shit ton of sugar. His shoulder is shiny with drool by the time he offers Murder Pudding a little frosting on his finger to taste.

“Please don’t bite, please don’t bite.”

Thankfully, their ridiculously long tongue flicks out to lap up the dollop of frosting. Their white eyes brighten, and they suck his finger completely clean. Eddie scoops up a little frosting on his pinky and gives it a try himself. It’s a little pasty. He adds a small splash of milk to the bowl. 

He starts mixing again, and the pudding crawls down his arm to wrap around his wrist like a bracelet. They reach a tendril towards the bowl.

“No.” Eddie tells them firmly. 

They scowl at him. Then they reach out more slowly, like they think maybe he won’t notice.

“NO. Do not make me put you in the jar.”

Their third attempt is sneaky enough that Eddie actually doesn’t notice until the tendril gets caught up in the beaters. The pudding is tugged off his shoulder. The mixer makes a weird sound.

“Oh, SHIT!!” Eddie immediately yanks the mixer cord’s plug out of the wall. 

The pudding is partly sunk in the bowl. Little blobs of them are mixed in with the frosting, and part of them is wrapped up in the beaters.

“Are you okay, M.P.?!” 

The teeny loose blobs creep back to the original blob. The slime that’s wound around the beaters effortlessly uncoils. The pudding is no worse for the wear. 

The relief Eddie feels is overwhelming. He puts a hand to his chest. “Do NOT scare me like that again.”

The pudding gives him a frosting-smeared grin. They sink deeper into the bowl and start absolutely going to town on the frosting.

“Fuck it, I guess that’s yours now.”

Eddie uses the last of his butter and sugar to make another bowl of frosting. He has to use an egg-beater to do the mixing because the mixer smells kind of burn-y. This second batch is a little runny but it tastes fucking delicious, and that’s what matters, really.

Eddie cleans up some of the cookie mess on the table and lays down fresh parchment paper. He puts on some carols and gets to work. 

Tragically, some of the bigger cookies break as he frosts them, and he’s left with no choice but to eat the broken pieces (incidentally, this is why the gingerbread men are his favorite shape; the limbs and heads almost always come right off even if he handles them really gently). 

Having their own bowl of frosting to eat keeps the pudding busy for a few minutes, but before long they’re climbing up his chair and onto the table. They hiccup once as they watch Eddie put sprinkles on the cookies that he’s frosted so far.

“Still haven’t gotten your sugar fix?”

They reach out, but they grab the container of red sprinkles instead of trying to snag a couple of cookies. They flip the container over and shake it over the cookies just like Eddie’s been doing. They sprinkle some of the cookies that don’t have any frosting on them yet, but Eddie doesn’t have the heart to correct them.

He offers them a broken piece of cookie, and they happily gobble it down. 

He’s in the middle of frosting a reindeer when something sticky pokes him in the cheek. Eddie turns to see that the pudding is holding out a frosted piece of cookie. When he parts his lips, they pop the cookie piece in his mouth. 

He’s still thinking about the gesture when they steal his butter knife and start piling frosting on their cookie that looks like a bodybuilder. They put a thick carpet of sprinkles over the seriously excessive frosting. Once that’s done, they break their massive cookie in half and offer him a piece.

“Aw, Puds, that was one of the only big cookies that didn’t break. You didn’t have to do that.”

They thrust the piece at him.

“Okay, okay. I’m gonna eat it.”

Eddie takes the piece, and the pudding picks up theirs. They don’t take a bite till he does. Eddie’s piece of the buff guy is actually crunchy from all the sprinkles. He hasn’t had that many sprinkles on something since he was a kid. It’s kind of fun, actually. 

“Mm.” Eddie lets out an exaggerated blissful moan. “Great job, Puds.”

They beam. 

* * * * * 

Venom puts a great deal of the yummy frosting on their cookie. They put the most on the half that they intend to share with preferred-host. Venom makes sure to give their cookie a proper coat of sprinkles; preferred-host isn’t putting anywhere near enough on his. 

Once they’re satisfied that the cookie is beautiful, they split it in half. They give preferred-host the top half, since it has the head. The brains are the best part of a snack. 

They wait to see his reaction before they eat their half. Preferred-host lets out an almost obscene sound of approval and speaks warmly to them, his mouth still half-full. Happiness squirms in their belly as they devour their piece.

* * * * *

Eddie gets Murder Pudding their own butter knife, and their decorating efforts are 90% helpful (he has to reprimand them a few times about the dangers of slime cooties when they double-dip). The two of them make short work of beautifying the rest of the cookies. They run out of frosting with eight cookies left over, but it’s fine. The pudding happily eats those. 

Once the frosting’s set up a little bit, Eddie carefully transfers the cookies to a Tupperware. He makes sure to leave some out for he and Pudding to eat. Eddie puts parchment paper between each layer of cookies so they won’t all stick together. He hides the container way at the back of the freezer. Puds might still find it, but if they don’t, there will be butter cookies left over for Christmas. 

Eddie eats five cookies and the pudding has eight. After they’ve feasted, Eddie heads to bed for a nap. 

He pulls the thick, fluffy blankets up to his chin and closes his eyes. Murder Pudding pools behind his back. A tendril snakes around him. If Eddie didn’t know any better, he’d swear that the pudding was spooning him. He touches a hand to the tendril, and a smaller hand rests on top of his as he drifts off to the soft music still playing in the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like how this chapter and the one before it became a low-key recipe
> 
> I'm planning on doing two, maybe three more chapters, of this fic. 
> 
> Thank you very much for reading! I hope this new year is good to you.
> 
> This just in, I enjoy putting smol Venom in ridiculous containers. 
> 
> ALSO BOY HOW ABOUT CHAPTER 8 OF THE HAND THAT FEEDS, HUH.


	6. The Night Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie and smol Venom spend Christmas Eve together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seasonal depression is mentioned again, and this time it's a little more of a plot point. Just a heads up.

It’s Christmas Eve. Eddie has nowhere to go, no one to visit, no last minute presents to unwrap. Surprisingly, he feels okay about that. 

The last few days sucked; when he wasn’t at work he either browsed the Internet for up to several consecutive hours or slept. He fell off his workout routine, ate marshmallow Santas for breakfast, and moped about being alone for the holidays.

Today, he ate actual food for breakfast. Okay, it was sugary cereal, but he’s still counting it as a step up from just candy. He took a shower. He called his mom. She didn’t answer, so he left her a message wishing her a merry Christmas. He even told her that he loved her. Then Eddie curled up with Murder Pudding and watched Elf and Die Hard back-to-back. (The pudding got kind of into Die Hard, but they retreated under his shirt with a hiss whenever something blew up onscreen.)

Right now, he’s sipping hot chocolate and watching the snow fall. The pudding is pooled on his chest, pulsating lazily in sync with his heart. Their eyes are closed, and they’ve got their tiny hand in his own hand. Every so often, Eddie strokes the back of their hand with his thumb, and they shiver. 

Really, Eddie reflects, it’s not so bad that he’s not with a bunch of relatives right now. He has the bathroom all to himself, he gets to sleep in his own bed, and he doesn’t have a bunch of people asking him about his failed engagement. In a way, being by himself for Christmas this year is its own kind of gift.

“You know what? I’ll bet you anything that I’m not going to be able to sleep tonight.”

The pudding cracks one eye open and fixes the white slit on Eddie attentively. He scratches their back, and they blep contentedly.

“It’s stupid. But ever since I was a little kid, I haven’t been able to sleep on Christmas Eve. Even though we’re not really doing anything tomorrow, I can pretty much guarantee that I’ll spend a lot of time tonight lying awake and staring at the ceiling.”

They give his thumb a squeeze. Eddie lifts their miniature hand to his lips for a kiss.

“My mom used to take me to the park on Christmas Eve. She wanted me to run around and get tired out. Plus it helped kill the time. Waiting was so hard.”

Eddie feels wistful thinking of how magical Christmas was when he was a kid. 

The pudding pushes themselves against his hand. They send him a wordless thought: they want to go to the park.

Eddie laughs. “Now? It’s pretty cold out, sweetheart, and it’s like 8:30.” 

Murder Pudding tugs gently at his finger with their terrifyingly sharp teeth. They want to go to the park. 

Eddie smiles. “You know what? What the hell.”

The pudding wriggles excitedly, recognizing that they’ve won. 

“Yeah, yeah, you little shit. Just gimme a minute here.”

Eddie gets dressed (very) warmly and bundles up Murder Pudding in a scarf and a hat with ear flaps. He straps on the baby carrier. The pudding climbs in, and Eddie heads out into the night.

It’s super fucking cold but there’s no wind, at least. It’s dark out but there are plenty of streetlights to soften the winter gloom. The closest park is a couple of miles away from the apartment complex. It’s far enough out of the seedy part of the area that Eddie isn’t worried about being shot at while he’s walking around the park in the dark.

Not surprisingly, Eddie and the pudding have the park to themselves. 

The pudding sends Eddie a mental picture; they want to go on the slide. Eddie brings them over to the metal slide, wipes some of the snow off it, and sets the pudding down at the top. The instant their body comes in contact with the metal, they yelp and cling to his arm. 

Eddie chuckles. “Too cold, huh? I guess it’s lucky you didn’t get stuck. That’d be an interesting call to the fire department. ‘Hello? Yes, my sentient slime mold is frozen to a slide, and they’re really rather distressed. Can you please get down here with some hot water and a tiny Valium right away?’”

They reach up to touch his nose so they can have contact with his skin and send him another thought. They want to go down the slide with him.

“Whuh- aw, no, Puds. I haven’t been on a slide since I was, like, ten.” 

They poke his nose. 

“You’re serious?”

Poke. Poke. Poke.

“Okay, okay, I’ll try it. But if I get stuck or break this thing, it’s your fault.” 

Feeling like an absolute fool, Eddie goes up the slide’s steps. He grimaces when a step creaks.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Puds.”

He perches at the top of the slide for a few seconds, a little nervous about trusting this thing with his weight. Then Eddie sits down and pushes himself forward. 

He slides to the bottom with Murder Pudding in his arms. Eddie has to plant his feet to keep from landing right in the snow.

“Ta-da.” 

The pudding squirms with delight. Eddie doesn’t need to be touching them to know that they want to slide again. 

He slides down a dozen more times before they’re satisfied. 

Next, they want to try the swings. Eddie doesn’t fight it, he just walks to the swing set. He and the pudding have their pick of the four swings. There’s also a baby swing set slightly apart from the regular swings. He wonders if the pudding would like that. 

Eddie sets them down in the baby swing. They peer over the top of the swing, tendrils curling uncertainly. When Eddie gives them a little push, they start to hiss and froth. He pushes them a few more times to see if they’ll warm up to it, but their agitation grows dramatically. So Eddie stops the swing and lifts them out again.

“Sorry, Puds. Didn’t meant to freak you out.”

They make a grumbling sound. He presses them to his cheek.

“Had enough?”

No. They still want to try swinging with him.

“Okay. Let’s do it.”

Eddie selects a swing and sits down. The pudding curls up inside his outermost jacket. Their head is sticking out of the neck hole. They froth when he starts pumping his legs, but they don’t flip out again. Eddie doesn’t go very high. He lets the pudding get used to the feeling of swinging. 

They’re tense at first. But, before long, they’re pestering him to go faster and higher. Eddie points his toes towards the stars, going as high as he feels safe going. He kinda feels like he’s flying. He’s not feeling the cold so much now that he’s in motion. Eddie is grinning big. For the first time in years, he’s having fun on Christmas Eve.

* * * * *

The two of them take the long way home and check out all the lights. Seeing the blinking colors reflected in the pudding’s shiny white eyes makes Eddie wibble. They take in the decorations with the biggest grin on their face. 

One house has two artificial trees that change color from blue to white and back again, and Eddie has to stop there for a little while; the pudding is fascinated. Eddie makes a mental note to buy one of those speakers that changes colors while the music is playing when he gets his next paycheck. THAT oughtta keep them entertained all DAY. 

He has to stop again at a house with a moving backdrop of candy canes projected with a laser light onto the garage door, and again at a house that has glowing reindeer with heads that move. Eddie regrets not having more decorations to put up around the apartment; Murder Pudding seems to really dig decorations. When all the holiday stuff goes on clearance after Christmas, he’ll buy some lights and maybe a light-up reindeer for next year. Maybe he’ll even set up the new stuff and leave it out until January. 

He has to stamp his feet and stuff his mittened hands into his armpits to stay sort of warm while the pudding admires their favorite houses. It’s getting colder, and the snow is coming down harder.

“Time to head in, M.P.”

They roll their eyes but don’t complain further.

“You are the sassiest little murder pudding.”

Eddie heads for home.

* * * * *

The two of them arrive home before Eddie turns into a popsicle, but it’s a near thing. 

Once he’s kicked off his boots and shed a couple of layers, Eddie climbs under the blankets that are still piled on the couch. The pudding curls around his neck and presses their face against his skin. 

Eddie ruffles their weird little head. “We gotta get to sleep soon, Puds, or else Santa will skip our place.” He yawns. “But seriously, I’m wiped out. Whaddya say we sleep out here tonight?”

The pudding yawns against his neck, which tickles a little.

“I should probably brush my teeth, though. Dammit.”

He’s seriously tempted to go to sleep without brushing, but today he actually has the energy to care about his oral hygiene. He doesn’t want to skip brushing again. With much reluctance, Eddie leaves the blanket nest. 

When he flips on the bathroom light, the pudding squints in protest and hides their eye spots against his neck.

Eddie chuckles. “Sorry, bud. It’ll be off soon, I promise.” 

He brushes his teeth, pees, and then heads back to the couch. The blankets are still warm when he wiggles back under them, and Eddie sighs contentedly.

“G’night, Puds.”

They lick his chin. 

Eddie falls asleep less than ten minutes after he closes his eyes. He doesn’t wake up until almost 8 AM.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My family used to go to the park on Christmas Eve when I was a kid. Writing this chapter brought back some fond memories.


	7. Merry Christmas...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's smol Venom's first Christmas.

Christmas morning is overcast and windy. Eddie smiles when he’s woken up enough to remember what day it is, even though he knows there’s no presents or anything. He feels chipper. 

Eddie nudges the pudding, who stirs against him. “Hey, merry Christmas, Puds.”

They stretch, return to their original shape, and open their eyes. 

“Let’s have some breakfast, and then you can open your stocking!” 

The two of them eat cookies for breakfast. Not because Eddie’s depressed, just because it’s Christmas and he feels like starting the day off with cookies.

“The breakfast of champions, eh, Puds?”

They smile as they stuff three frozen cookies into their black hole of a mouth. 

Once Eddie’s had his fill, he lets the pudding polish off the rest of the cookies. While they work on devouring every last crumb, Eddie gets out their stocking. It’s one of his socks (clean, of course). 'Murder Pudding' is written on the top in Sharpie. He crammed as much chocolate as he could fit in there. It’s mostly Hershey kisses, but there are a couple of Snickers trees in there too. He’s been hiding it in his mailbox to keep Murder Pudding from finding it. 

It’s not much of a stocking, he supposes, as stockings go. He’s hoping they’ll enjoy the gesture of surprise chocolate anyway.

When Eddie comes back in, there’s not even a single crumb or scrap of frosting left on the table. 

“Hey, Murder Pudding. I got you a little something.”

As Eddie holds out the stocking, they sit up extra tall to peek inside. Their mouth drops open. Eddie grins and sets the sock down.

Murder Pudding pokes their head into the sock and starts munching. More and more of them can fit inside as they eat more of the chocolate. They nose around at the bottom of the sock, then squirm until their head is poking out of the top of the sock. They make a flapping noise that’s their equivalent of a burp, and a little piece of red foil wrapper falls out of their mouth.

The pudding reaches for Eddie’s hand, and when he touches their hand he feels a rush of warm gratitude.

“Hey, you’re welcome.”

Eddie settles in to check his email. He’s surprised to see one from Amazon. He didn’t order anything. Could it be spam? It looks legit. He takes a chance and opens the email. And holy shit. Diane has sent him a $50 online Amazon gift card.

“To my idiot son,” the message she’s attached reads. “Don’t spend it all in one place. Happy Holidays, Ma.” 

“She’s making me look bad. All I got her was scented soap.” He hadn’t guessed that she would give him, her newest employee anything… let alone set the bar so high. “I’ll show her. After I get paid, I’m having a fancy box of chocolates delivered to her office. One of the really big ones with lots of caramel creams. She can’t show ME up.” 

Eddie can’t stop smiling. Best surprise sneak attack gift EVER.

He spend a good chunk of the morning browsing Amazon. It’s great fun to put things in his cart but not actually buy them. To have that feeling that he might buy a particular thing, or he might not.

His cell rings near lunchtime. It’s his mom- his real mom. When he answers, she wishes him a merry Christmas and tells him that she sent him a package but it didn’t arrive in time for him to open it today. 

Which is more than fine with him; having something to open after Christmas day just makes the fun last a little longer. 

Eddie and his mom talk for two and a half hours. She tells him that she loves him before she hangs up, which makes Eddie feel all warm and gooey inside. 

This is turning out to be a pretty lovely Christmas after all.

* * * * *

The great thing about having Christmas dinner with Murder Pudding is that Eddie doesn’t need to get all dressed up. He can eat in his pajamas if he wants to, and that’s exactly what he does. 

He and the pudding eat a frozen pizza and then cuddle up on the couch.

“Tomorrow,” he informs them, “We will eat things with actual nutritional value.”

The pudding makes a raspberry noise.

“Don’t you ‘pbbth’ me; we can’t subsist on cookies every day.”

They perk up when he says ‘cookies’. 

“Are you serious? After all that you had today?” 

When they realize that he’s not going to give them any cookies, the pudding pouts. Eddie snorts. He strokes their cheek, and they press into his touch even as they’re still pouting.

“You’re so cute when you pout. Lucky for you.”

They curl up around his hand, and he holds them to his chest. 

“Merry Christmas, Murder Pudding. Thanks for sharing today with me.” 

He feels a thrum of affection in return. 

The two of them watch the snow come down as they listen to Christmas music for the last time this year, each quietly enjoying the other’s company.

Today wasn’t magical, but it was the best Christmas that Eddie’s had in at least ten years. 

He hopes that the pudding will be around for many more to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just imagine Eddie yelling, "You're not my real mom!!" at Diane during a quarrel okay
> 
> I don't know about comics Eddie's family; I've read a fic or two where he has a rocky relationship with his dad but that's about the extent of my knowledge. So in this AU within an AU, Eddie and his mom aren't super close but they have a good relationship overall.


	8. ...and a happy New Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Belvedere had never liked fireworks, either, but he'd never gotten shitfaced in an attempt to cope with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise!! So, who's up for a New Year's chapter now that it's February?? 
> 
> Warning for alcohol use and vomit in this chapter. Puds imbibes some champagne, and later on they get sick. The vomit part isn't graphic and it's only like two sentences but I just wanted to give a heads up. 
> 
> I hope you all are having a wonderful new year so far! Thank you so so much for reading.

In ten minutes, it would be a whole new year. 

Eddie had tried not to go overboard with making resolutions. In years past, he’d made a whole list and then gotten depressed when he hadn’t accomplished all that he wanted to get done. Eddie had learned through experience that he did better when he made only a few resolutions and kept them realistic.

Instead of planning to lose thirty pounds, he was going to stick to his workout routine and exercise a couple of days a week.

Instead of resolving to get over Anne, he was going to try out at least two new clubs or night classes, and he was going to start dating again. Maybe he’d meet someone new. Hell, maybe he’d even meet a handsome new guy like Anne had. Maybe this would be his gayest year yet.

Eddie also wanted to find out more about Murder Pudding, and keep from fucking up TOO badly at work. That last one alone was enough to keep him busy all year.

Despite all that had gone wrong this last year, Eddie felt cautiously hopeful about the new year. He had no fiancée, but he had a new job (however degrading) and a weird goopy friend.

“Whatever comes out way, we’ll figure it out, right, M.P.?” 

He held out his hand, and the pudding made their own hand and slapped his palm. Teaching them how to high-five was a recent accomplishment, and one that Eddie was quite proud of. 

Murder Pudding was sitting on the couch next to him. They were a little bit rounder than usual. Eddie had gotten lots of snacks for tonight, and he and the pudding had been grazing on those snacks for most of the night. Eddie had set out a spread of veggies and dip, corn chips, soda, tater tots, and mini cupcakes- a party for two. 

Murder Pudding had liked the ranch dip but not the veggies; they’d started sticking carrots into the dip and then sucking the dip off. Since Eddie wouldn’t let them double-dip, there was a small pile of damp, untouched carrots on their plate. 

They’d gone absolutely BANANAS over the tater tots; Eddie had had to cook the whole bag. The pudding had thoughtfully left a couple of tots for him. 

(Eddie was also resolving to eat better than this during the new year.)

When there were eight minutes left in the old year, Eddie got out the cheap champagne that he’d bought yesterday. He picked off the foil around the cork as the pudding watched curiously. They sampled a scrap of the foil and spat it right back out.

“Heh, that’s just for decoration, Puds.”

They frowned, as if to say, ‘Now you tell me!’

Eddie tugged at the cork. “Boy, that’s really stuck in there. How are you even supposed to- wait, I think I’ve got it.” 

Out came the cork with a cartoony pop. Eddie’s feeling of pride was quickly replaced by surprise and dismay as frothy champagne fizz started running down the bottle. 

“Crap.”

He slurped at the leaking champagne, and was only partially successful in his efforts to keep it off the coffee table and his clothes.

“Dammit.”

Eddie quickly shuffled to the kitchen sink, holding his hand under the bottle as he continued to slurp at the escaping froth. Of course, by the time he got to the sink, the bottle had pretty much stopped fizzing. 

“Figures.”

Eddie rinsed the outside of the bottle off, then grabbed a fistful of paper towels and a cleaning spray that was safe to use on wood. As he sprayed the coffee table, the pudding hissed back at the spray bottle.

“Chill out, Puds, it doesn’t want to fight you.”

Eddie mopped at the mess. It figured that he would squeak in doing one more stupid thing in the last few minutes of the year. 

When he was finished, there were three minutes left until midnight. Eddie poured himself a finger of champagne into an old jar that he was now using as a glass. He returned to his tiny living room and sat on the couch. 

Murder Pudding eyed his glass. Eddie smiled. “You wanna try some? I don’t think one sip would kill you. Would it?”

He drizzled a tiny portion of champagne into one of the soda bottles’ caps. “There you go.”

They drank the capful with one sip. They hiccupped and held a tendril to their mouth. Then they surprised him by holding out the cap for a refill.

“Really? Okay…” 

Eddie poured the pudding a second capful, then raised his own drinking vessel in a toast. They looked a little confused, but held out their cap. 

Eddie clicked his glass against their cap. “Cheers.”

He drank a sip of his own drink. The pudding drank their capful, then slithered onto Eddie’s arm and clicked their cap against his glass. As if this wasn’t an obvious enough hint, they touched Eddie’s hand and sent him the mental image of him filling the cap again. 

“Sorry, sweetheart, I think I’m gonna have to cut you off.” 

They glared up at him as he stuck the cork back in the bottle. 

Eddie looked at his watch. 58 seconds and counting. He felt just a little bit excited.

30 seconds now. 20. 10. And then the hour showed midnight.

“Happy new year, sweetheart!” Eddie exclaimed. 

He picked the pudding up and gave them a kiss on their little face. They licked his entire face from chin to forehead. 

As Eddie wiped his face on his sleeve, the fireworks started. Eddie could hear a few muffled “WHOO!”s from elsewhere in the building. Murder Pudding flattened themselves against his chest at the first bang. When more banging and a series of shrieking and crackling followed, they clung to his neck like a scarf. 

“Oh, hey, hey, it’s okay, M.P. It’s just noise. It can’t hurt you.” 

They flinched with every new bang and whistle. 

“Hey, sweetheart, shhh, it’s okay. I’m right here. You’re okay.”

Eddie petted the quivering band of goop. 

They reached out with a few tendrils, and Eddie didn’t realize they were going for the bottle of champagne until they had it halfway to their mouth. 

Murder Pudding pulled out the cork with their teeth and tipped the bottle back.

“No no no, hey, don’t.”

Eddie tried in vain to break their grip as they chugged. In less than a minute, the bottle was empty.

“Holy shit, Puds.”

They tucked their face against his neck with a hiccup that made them jolt. 

“Holy shit.” Eddie mumbled again.

* * * * *

Eddie went to the bedroom, where he knew the pudding felt safe. He got into bed and curled up under the blankets. 

Eddie rubbed the pudding’s back as he looked up articles about alcohol poisoning. He monitored Murder Pudding closely.

They were having trouble holding their form together; they kept melting down his chest and over the hand that he would cup under them in an attempt to prevent any more spillage. They didn’t seem distressed about this. They were very relaxed.

The fireworks didn’t seem to bother them much now; they kept grinning at him and making faces. 

When Eddie put the back of his hand on a spot above their eyes to see if they felt warm, Murder Pudding drew his fingers into their mouth and playfully nibbled on them. They didn’t want to let go of his hand when he tried to remove it from their mouth. 

Eddie did not trust drunk pudding’s playful nibbles. 

“Puds, I really don’t want to kick off the year by losing any fingers. Leggo.” 

He felt their freaky tongue wrap around his fingers. Ewww. 

He sent them the mental image of them opening their mouth. 

“Now.”

They did their equivalent of rolling their eyes, but they released his fingers.

“Thank you.”

A queer sort of expression came over their face. They squeezed their eyes shut.

Eddie’s heart dropped. “Baby, are you okay?”

They sat up a little, and sludge smelling strongly of champagne and tater tots spilled out of them. 

It took Eddie a second to process that a) they’d just thrown up and b) it was all over his shirt.

“Aw, sweetheart.”

Murder Pudding looked pale. They turned their face in to Eddie’s shoulder.

“It’s okay.” He soothed. “I’m gonna take care of you.”

* * * * *

Eddie stripped the bed and changed his clothes (this was his third shirt of the night). He dabbed the pudding clean with a damp paper towel. 

Once they were both cleaned up, he went into the bathroom and squeezed a little bit of toothpaste onto his finger. Murder Pudding licked it up and worked it around in their mouth.

They were more reluctant to try the tap water that Eddie drizzled into his cupped hand. He cradled them in the crook of his arm and held his hand close to their mouth. They had a couple of licks to humor him.

“Good job, sweetheart.” He kissed their head.

Thirty minutes later, the water had stayed down, so Eddie carried the pudding into the kitchen to get them some Pepto-Bismol. 

He made the mistake of pouring it into the Pepto bottle’s cap; the pudding let out a miserable little groan. They hid their face when he offered them the cap. Like, they actually hid their eye spots and mouth.

“Hey, this’ll make you feel better, I promise. Look, I’ll have some too.”

Eddie drank what was in the cap. He filled the cap again and offered it to the pudding. This time, they drank it.

“Way to go, Puds, I’m proud of you.”

They closed their eyes and fell asleep against him.

“Let’s get you to bed.”

Eddie got back into his bed, but he didn’t sleep. He stayed up until even the overzealous knuckleheads stopped shooting off fireworks. He stayed up until the sun came up. 

Occasionally he would pat or gently poke the pudding till they grumbled or rippled. Every time they reacted to his touch, it was a relief.

Murder Pudding finally woke up at 10:30 AM. 

As they groggily nuzzled Eddie, Eddie fixed them a piece of toast and a cup of tea. They crunched up the toast and tried a little of the tea. They made a face and pushed the cup away.

“Not a tea-drinker, eh, M.P.?”

They hid their face in Eddie’s shirt again. He rubbed their back, and they shivered contentedly.  
“I know you feel crappy, sweetheart, but you’ll feel like your old self again soon.”

Now that he was fairly sure they weren’t going to die, Eddie could be amused about the whole situation. He shook his head. Mr. Belvedere had never liked fireworks, either, but he never got shit-faced in an attempt to cope with them. He would hide under the bed as close to the wall as he could get, his fur fluffed up even more than usual and his eyes enormous. One time Eddie had made the mistake of trying to comfort him, and the absolute bastard had sunk his teeth into Eddie’s flesh.

Thinking about that damn cat and Anne’s house didn’t make Eddie ache as much as it usually did. That had to be progress, right? Right.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he said softly, as much to himself as to Murder Pudding. 

“Come on. Let’s get some fresh air. It’ll do you good.”

The pudding curled around the back of Eddie’s neck as he got bundled up to go outside. It was, Eddie felt, too late to go jogging (too many witnesses), but they could go for a walk.

As Eddie locked up his apartment, he said, “We can see who still has their decorations up.”

The pudding snuggled close to him from inside the baby carrier. As the two of them stepped out into the snowy day, the sharp cold air felt full of promise.


End file.
